


How Not To Flirt

by profdanglais



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Drabble, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 19:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Based on this Tumblr prompt:Emma trying to flirt with Killian but either a) she's really bad at it or b) Killian doesn't get her style of flirting. Someone either has to point it out to Killian or she spells it out herself that she likes him.





	How Not To Flirt

**Author's Note:**

> I pretty much never write prompts, but for some reason this one came across my dash and brought inspiration with it.

“So, how was your day Jones?” Emma asks, “Get your ass kicked by any twelve-year-olds?” 

“No, not today.”

"What, not even for wearing that shirt?"

Killian shrugs and takes a sip of his rum, missing the disappointment that flares in her eyes when he doesn’t rise to her bait. 

It has never, not once, crossed Killian’s mind that Emma Swan might like him as anything more than a friend. She is beautiful, so gorgeous she sometimes steals his breath, and strong and confident and she takes no shit from anyone. She makes his palms damp and his mouth dry, and it’s all he can do to keep his cool around her, particularly as all she ever does is make fun of his job and his boat and his clothes and his taste in music. Nothing about him seems to meet her standards, and so Killian contents himself with watching her from afar, losing to her at pool, and occasionally sparring with her when he’s had enough rum to loosen his tongue. 

He hasn’t had enough rum yet tonight. 

He doesn’t ask her out, despite how very much he wants to date her, because she likes precisely nothing about him and he still can’t quite figure out why she bothers to speak to him at all. He is definitely not going to put himself in a position for her to reject him further. But he admires her immensely —thinks she’s bloody brilliant in fact— and he still clings to the foolish hope that maybe someday he’ll manage to do something that she doesn’t see fit to mock. So he gulps down his rum and signals for another, and turns to smile at her. 

“My twelve-year-olds are too busy learning history to kick any asses,” he says. “They save the ass-kickings for the gym teacher.” He nods towards where David is standing across the room, leaning over to whisper something in Mary Margaret’s ear. “By the time they reach my class they are worn out enough to manage some actual learning.” 

“Well,” Emma says, crossing her legs as she leans towards him, “That’s lucky for you, then.” 

“Indeed.” 

“_Indeed_,” she repeats, in a tragically poor imitation of his accent. He smiles wanly. Of all the things about him she makes fun of, his accent is the one he finds most difficult to handle. Does she expect him to change the way he speaks? What exactly _does_ she want from him?

Mary Margaret calls Emma’s name and she slides off the barstool and saunters across the room. Killian watches her go, so enthralled with the way she moves and how her dress hugs her ass that he doesn’t notice Ruby at his elbow, wiping down the bar, until she speaks directly into his ear. 

“Tell me Jones,” she says, “Are you blind or just stupid?” 

“What?” 

“I _said_, are you blind or just stupid?” Ruby repeats. 

“I like to think I’m neither,” Killian replies, wondering what brought this on and if he’s just going to be insulted by beautiful women all night long. 

“Well you give the appearance of a pretty smart guy,” Ruby concedes. “So you must just be blind then.” 

Killian sighs, feeling very much unequal to this conversation. “What’s this about, Ruby?”

Ruby fixes him with a Look. “It’s about the fact that Emma’s been flirting like crazy with you for nearly two years and you’ve never done a thing about it,” she says. 

“_Flirting_ with me?” 

“Yes, obviously.” 

“No, not obviously. She doesn't flirt with me. All she ever does is laugh at me.” 

“That’s how she flirts.” 

Killian stares. Ruby _seems_ serious. “Elaborate on that point please. How is making fun of everything from my job to my jeans in any way to be construed as flirting?” 

Ruby leans forward and lowers her voice. “You know how Emma was a foster kid?” 

“I do.” 

“Well, she never got much affection when she was growing up, and so she never really learned what to do with feelings. She doesn’t know how to express them so she either pushes them away or turns them into something else. Like mockery.” 

Killian frowns. That actually makes a lot of sense, and he feels kind of dumb for not seeing it sooner. “So you’re saying that every time Emma makes fun of me she’s actually—” 

“Trying to get your attention, yes,” says Ruby. “It works with other guys because she’s so hot but you’ve never made a move despite her practically throwing herself at you, and it really hurts her.” 

“_Hurts_ her?” Killian is shocked, and upset. He would never, _never_ wish to cause her pain. 

“Yeah.” Ruby gives him a hard look. “She’s seriously into you. She talks about you all the time, so much it’s actually getting really boring, so would you please, _please_ just ask her out already? For all our sakes.” 

Killian feels a bit faint, gobsmacked by the near-inconceivable notion of Emma Swan being ‘seriously into’ him, and also concerned that this may all be some huge cosmic joke. 

“Ruby,” he grabs her hand. “I need you to promise me that you’re not having me on.” 

“What-ing you what?” 

“Having me on. Playing a joke on me.” 

Ruby huffs and rolls her eyes, but when she looks at him he sees only sincerity. “It’s not a joke. She likes you. Ask her out.” 

“Okay.” Killian takes a deep breath and a huge drink of rum. “Here goes.” 

He marches across the room and puts his hand on Emma’s arm. Her skin is warm and soft and goosebumps rise on it when she turns and sees it’s him. 

“Jones?” she says. 

“Swan. May I speak with you for a moment?”

She nods, for once looking nervous and off-kilter. She lets him lead her to a quiet corner of the bar where he steels himself, resisting the urge to scratch behind his ear. 

“Um. I was wondering if you’d care to have dinner with me?” he asks. 

“Dinner.” 

“Yes. Perhaps tomorrow? Er, if you’re free.” He attempts a smile. 

She gapes at him, swallows hard, then nods. “I’m free,” she says. “I’d— I’d like that.” 

“Really?” He can’t stop the grin breaking across his face. Even though he’d believed Ruby he still hadn’t truly _believed _her. 

Emma smiles, soft and almost shy. “Yes. Really.” 

“Well.” He clears his throat. “All right then. I’ll pick you up at seven?” 

Her smile shifts, sharpens, and he has just enough time to register its feral edge before she grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls his lips to hers. 

When they break apart some minutes later he is wrecked and breathless and delighted to note that she is as well. 

“Seven it is,” she says, her mouth a breath away from his, and then she pushes him back and saunters away, hips swinging. 

Killian lifts his fingers to his mouth. Both are still tingling. 

“Bloody hell,” he says. 


End file.
